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Mid-summer in the Appalachian Mountains of southwestern
Virginia can be an unforgiving time. Insects of unimaginable proportions can
devastate an entire garden, in a single night. By mid-July one can find trees
completely devoid of leaves. Gardening in this rock-ridden ground can be the
most frustrating experience of a gardener??™s life. Knowing that these mid-summer
horrors await you ought to discourage the southern Appalachian gardener; but,
for some eccentric reason, we go on challenging those demons, again and again.
In my Appalachian garden I??™ve have more failures than successes, except for the
wildflower garden.
Six summers ago, after a devastating illness had prevented
me from gardening in the spring, I felt an uncontrollable urge to head for the
oven-like out of doors and plant. There was one plot of ground, a circle,
perhaps ten feet in diameter, where a huge fly-attracting bush had been yanked
out by the roots. Webs of roots left over from the misbegotten bush still laced
the ground, and my ill health had left me exhausted. I couldn't make the
sun-baked clay budge, yet, a kind of determined obsession came over me. I would
not give up!
Dragging myself into the garage amidst staggering heat, I
hauled bag after bag of heavy topsoil, pouring it out onto my impenetrable spot
of ground. Again I struggled back to the garage, so I could painfully heave
multiple bags of wildflower seed out to my little piece of ground. The seed had
been bought seasons back and should not have germinated, but my hopes were
high. I thought I would die from the heat, but I persevered. After three
back-breaking, sweat-dripping hours, I had poured onto my garden plot, ten bags
of soil and five bags of seed. For several weeks, I watered the spot twice a
day .
I warned everyone not to mow my wildflower patch.
Mid-summer stretched into late summer, and tiny plants began to grow. It was
like I was expecting a child! My heart would flutter when I would go out and
examine each new plant. One day a single tiny lady-slipper bloomed. One would
think that I'd just discovered a rare treasure, my excitement was so great. I
didn't even hear the lawnmower.
Next morning, I couldn't wait to hobble out to the garden.
Dressed only in slippers, and night clothes, I hurried out to the wildflower
garden, only to discover bare ground! My little garden had been mowed! My
heart sank! My lovely possibility was gone, and I was devastated! Four times
that summer my little garden was mowed by mistake. Fall came and went. Then
winter snows and ice covered the earth. Finally spring was just around the
corner. My health had not improved, so there would be no spring garden again
that year.
The grass and weeds were quickly taking over, and it was
just about time for that first mowing. I walked by my little patch of earth,
where my hopes had been dashed, and I could see unusual new growth. Weeds, no
doubt. However, something within my soul would not give up on my dream. I
begged everyone to leave that patch alone. In a few weeks, my "weeds" were
towering. The temptation to mow them down was a struggle, but I wouldn??™t budge.
"Nope." I said. "I've just got a feeling,"
Every day I checked that patch of ???weeds,??? then several
days of rain kept me indoors. Finally the sun came out. I went out to look at
my ???weed patch," and there it was, all abloom! The spicy scent of Sweet
Williams was in the air, and the colors were breathtaking. Birds were chirping,
bees were buzzing, and a single humming-bird flitted from flower to flower.
All spring and summer the wildflowers burst forth, creating
a breathtaking display. Even through late fall and early winter, bits and pieces
of the garden that wouldn't die continued to peek through the snow. Frequently
housebound, I would peer through my window only to spy a smiling daisy or a hint
of coreopsis gold. It was long after Christmas when the little garden finally
surrendered to the elements, but its lesson will live in my heart forever. As
surely as God nurtured my seeds of hope, I can trust his answer to all of my
hopes and dreams.
Bio:
Jaye Lewis is an award winning writer and contributing
author to the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. Jaye lives in the mountains of
Virginia with her family. Her book, Entertaining Angels, is being re-edited and
will include this story. Visit Jaye's website at
www.entertainingangels.org Email Jaye at
jayelewis@comcast.net |
